And what it is she fears."
"As a piece of impromptu poetry," said Ewing, "yon is no so bad. If it is impromptu, about which I have my doubts. And since my home is in Paisley, where all the poets come from, my judgment is creetical."
Ching shot one penetrative glance at Madame, and perceptibly paled under his weather-beaten skin.
"Further," went on Ewing cautiously—he could babble as gleefully and interminably as Madame herself—"further, I question the judeecious use of the wor-r-d 'surprise.' In the leeterary sense its employment is bad, for it does not rhyme, and as a statement of fact it is erroneous. I will not say that I cannot be surprised by anybody in the wur-r-ld, though they that have tried to astonish me have been up against a sair obstacle. What I assert now is that Madame Gilbert has no surprise for me, and little enough for Ching."
"Wait," warned Madame, with assurance. "I have not yet spoken. The worst of talking to you, Alexander, is that one can never wedge a wur-r-d in."
"Go canny, lassie," proceeded Ewing. "Go canny. Be not over boastful. You have been a bonny actress all these weeks past, but not so bonny that you can deceive Sandy Ewing. I had my suspeecions from the first when that Willatopy boy revealed to as the secret of his bairth. And since then I've been conning my eye over the bit registers in Thursday Island."
"'Tis a wash out," admitted Madame. "I have not seen those famous registers myself, but I understand that they would convince a brazen image."
"They are as tight as a drum and as adhesive as a pepper plaster. The joints of them are steam tight to any pressure. You could na shift them with T.N.T. My metaphors may be a wee bit mixed, there is nothing of confusion about those registers. If you would like to see fair copies, I have them now in my hip pocket. Three half-crowns they cost me—for the certeeficate of the registrar. It was a turrible expense."
"You are a great man, Sandy," said Madame.
"The Scots were ever a grand people, and Sandy Ewing is one of the grandest among them. Primus inter Pares. But a wumman of your perspicacity, though a foreigner and a Roman, will not have neglected to obsairve that we are of a modesty beyond belief. We, none of us, ever blow our own trumpets."